Enshrouded in darkness once more. Unfortunately, I wasn’t dense enough to miss the irony. The honest truth was that I felt like being a little self-destructive. Allowed the grip of the past to dim my mood and fall into bad habits.
Juvenile to lash out and sulk over the first push-back against my ever-increasing need to unhinge my jaw and swallow down whatever life could give me. Part of me was annoyed that the super didn’t have my back, the other part grumbling because she might have been right.
Didn’t matter anymore.
My bike rolled to a stop, and I switched it off. The city at night had given me time to settle into familiarity. The shadows that hid my vocation and sins. Except where Boss had sent me, I had no such luck.
Circled more to the north, near the outskirts, was a bar. The neon lights of the sign up top pulsed back and forth through each letter. Boozeslut. And I thought I was terrible at naming things. The text was accompanied by an approximation of a female figure in a state of undress, one eye winking on and off. Although I wasn’t one to judge on physique, it looked as though she had been in an industrial accident that only left the most titillating parts of her body and long, pointed legs.
It looked as good a place as any for my target to be holed up. Rough. Brash. Way too loud. Even as I parked up my bike and tried to calm my nerves about what I was about to do, a couple of sloshed patrons fell from the swinging-door entrance and stumbled down the road. Warmth and the raucous cheers of dozens of raised-voice conversations vomited from within, before the doors swung back shut.
Despite requesting Boss gave me something to murder pronto, he had made the excuse that this was the only thing available on such short notice, but reassured me it had the promise of some violence if blowing off steam was my goal.
And was it?
In truth, I had tried not to think about it. People argued all the time, and on the surface of it, the disagreement I had with the super was rather petty. I may be a monster only barely crawling my way into a normal existence, but I understood that our spat was in part due to bad timing. A miscommunication that we were both too stubborn and blind to step away from in time, before the crash.
Much like my current position. Target was a double-crossing informant. The where and why was not so important, but Boss needed to know who he had been blabbing to, and then I had permission to shut him up permanently. A bar was one of the most overt places I had ever been sent to. Perhaps typical that me having a night out would resort to some violence, and this seemed as good a place as any. Details were vague, any number of adult males fitting the scraps of information he had given me. A punishment, maybe.
Ten-mag with Nerve. Ten-mag with Normal. Sideloader with three Smoke, and a good mix on my bandolier of anything opportune I could use. Didn’t bring the drum as it deserved a night off and hopefully this wouldn’t turn out that bad.
As I moved off of the bike and took my first step toward the place, I wasn’t too sure my hopes would have any effect. Shame.
Smell of alcohol and unwashed bodies hit like a wave as I stepped up to the doors, the constant noise inside already grating on my nerves. As a man who shot first and asked questions introspectively the next day, this whole setup rubbed the fur in the wrong direction.
Hand pushed the door, and I invited myself in.
Not sure if it was ego, or some odd attachment I had to something cliche from my past, but I was almost disappointed when the place didn’t go silent to observe my entrance. I tallied up another point toward wanting to destroy the building. I did receive plenty of glances, some more malicious than others, but otherwise I was allowed to walk myself up to the busy bar unaccosted.
After squeezing in between one wide man who looked like a pirate, and the other who - oh, they both did. One on my left was just a boar-man rather than human. My eyes met the barkeep, and I realized another good reason why this wasn’t the sort of place I often frequented.
He was a tough, grisled looking character. All sinew and wiry muscles - clearly having worked this place for decades and seen his fair share of brawls. Eyepatch, thin white beard, and a fuzz of pale hair that was escaping from the top of his dome. Hands that looked like he climbed mountains every waking moment that he wasn’t behind the bar soaking up alcohol like aged sawdust. Adverse to my expectations for this kind of venue, the man appeared to be wearing a nametag.
Hurst. Which wasn’t the worst name I’d heard, but was close enough.
“What can I get’ya?” he asked, barely audible despite half-shouting at me.
I tilted my head to the side and showed him the nutrition canister.
[Got anything that fits this?]
He leaned across the bar and put a finger to my neck, his tongue working around his mouth to assist his thought process as his eye narrowed. “Yeah, it’ll cost ya, but I do. You looking for a buzz or to get fucked up?”
My gaze went back out to the throng of cheering, laughing, and shouting people. All clustered around, enjoying their night out. Self destruction was one thing, but I was starting to take this a little personally. Almost regretted asking Boss for the job, now that I was potentially cooling off. But then what? I was just a machine built for violence anyway. If anything, this was exactly where I needed to be.
[Fuck me up, please.]
Empty can out. Swiped away some credits. Canister of a dark swirling liquid in.
Other than my stims, I had spent the entirety of my hitman life avoiding drugs and alcohol. One reason was that my lack of proper mouth and dietary system just didn’t work for that. I had never asked Boss for anything other than the basic nutritional variants of the canisters, because that was all that I needed. Already miserable and singularly focused, I didn’t need a vice to drag me down and make me worse at my job.
So why the change now? This was how a normal person functioned, right? The cold slime of my misplaced anger slunk through me at the same time as the alcohol did. Felt like more of a gel than any sort of liquor. I gave a nod to the barkeep and looked around for a table or somewhere to get a better vantage point.
Ah, there, over by the left-hand wall. A pair of lizard-women were just leaving, allowing me to nab it if I were quick. I took a few steps between the nearest tables before someone stepped right in my way.
[Excuse me.]
“Nah, you ain’t excused.”
I looked down at the man, who was at least a full head shorter than me. His eyes were glazed over, but his jaw was raring to be broken. Almost chewing on the inevitability. Short hair and stubble, leather wasitcoat and pants, but bare chest. Enough beer in him to make all of the above seem like a good decision.
[Perhaps I will find a different route, then.]
“Oh, runnin’ from me, are ya?”
To the sides, I could see his fellow gormless drunkards leering, their eyes sparkling with amusement and the potential of violence. It wasn’t beneath me to litter the ground with the teeth of the foolish, but a premature act might scare away my target from showing up. Oh, yeah - I was here for that.
As the tentacled grip of the strange alcohol filtered up through my brain, I started to suspect I had made an error and things weren’t going to go my way. Or… no, things were going to get a lot worse for everyone involved.
The little weasel saw my silence as contempt, which was probably the only accurate read he’d have for the rest of the evening. Especially after I ruptured his eye sockets out.
“We don’t like your kind around here, asshole.”
I sighed.
[Don’t you think that kind of bigotry is cliche in this setting? You don’t have to play the role of the cybernetic hating bully.]
“Cyber? Nah, me best lad is part cyborg, ya prick.” To our right, one of his companions waved a crude robotic hand at me. “What we don’t like is righteous fuckin’ supers talking down to us.”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Seems I had gotten the wrong end of the stick, although both ends were covered in shit. Any minor elation over being recognized as a superhero was washed down quicker than my canister liquid. The first time I’d been truly out and overt in my current super suit outfit. And it had almost immediately gotten me into trouble.
[I didn’t talk to anyone before you got in my way.]
“Yeah, but you ain’t here for any good reason. You gonna arrest me, super shit?”
The gaggle of laughter from his audience only drew my notice to the fact that we had a lot more eyes on us the longer that this charade went on. I had been able to get away with my appearance before he has said the s word - and now I was front and center to something soon to get very violent if I couldn’t diffuse the situation.
As if I wanted to diffuse it.
[Arrest? No, you’d just turn up dead and be written off as collateral.]
“A threat?” His hand down by his hip revealed a flick-blade that popped out. “Might want to reconsider your tone.”
Considering he thought I was a superhero, it seemed shortsighted to then threaten me with a short blade. Was this the kind of action a man too deep in the booze took? Was I soon to follow? Probably, as the edges of my peripheral were getting a little fuzzy. And I felt… different.
Like I craved violence.
I leaned forward, my eyes behind my goggles, glaring at his. Such an easy twig to break. And then the whole forest will be set alight, no doubt. Still riding the high of deconstructing the Five Eyes, I had little doubt I’d come out of a bar brawl the victor. Left hand tensed as I was about to make my opening move.
Before a hand rested on my shoulder.
“Actually, he’s with me.”
A voice I recognized, and even the bleary eyes of my would-be opponent had no difficulty knowing who it was. I turned my head to the side.
Captain Roy Snaps.
Some intrigue in his eyes, alongside a cocky smile, but he gave me a pat and gestured over to the corner where a door lay. “Let’s get you out of the riff-raff, big guy.”
My plan for the evening was very much torn to shreds and thrown in the trash. I shrugged and relented to follow him. Gave the small fry a glare as I left. He still had dues to pay - the table I wanted had been taken during our verbal scuffle. He’d fucking pay.
Boots shuffled a little, as I didn’t have full control over my capabilities. Ah, now I remembered another reason for my aversion to mind-altering substances. The fact that I had several parts of me guided by my mental acuity. Odd that it was just a brief conversation with Roxy that somehow led me so astray from normal procedure.
Wasn’t sure what that really said about me.
Captain pushed through the small door which led to a lounge. A wide space more sparsely lit, round tables and plush seating populated by people not shouting their lungs out. Perhaps the speedster could be my new best friend. There was an air of peace here, and a smell of more refined wood and incense rather than sweat and cheap ale.
“Odd place to find you,” he said, turning his head to me as we walked over to an empty table. “Almost didn’t recognize you if it weren’t for that industrial dildo you carry around.”
[I’ve had something of a glow-up.]
“Fuck, you sure have. Rox must really have you by the balls. You want anything?” He gestured to the seat before he waved over whatever the bar lounge equivalent of a waiter was.
I tapped the side of my neck as I pushed my way onto the chair.
[Already soaking in enough regrets for the evening.]
He had taken me away from a fight I really wanted, but in truth, this might be the correct place to find the informant. I wasn’t even aware of a back room, so I tried to keep my eyes open. More the fool me if I had caused a scene out front and thought I’d scared the target off, when they were hiding here all along.
Lighting made it difficult to pick out specific figures, so I turned my attention to the super, who slid into seating almost opposite me.
“That’s the spirit.” He murmured something to the waiter, and they gave him a nod before moving away. “This area is membership only, but since you’re with me, it’s fine.” His grin widened.
[I appreciate it, Captain.]
“You can call me Roy, you ass. I know your sidekick bullshit isn’t finished yet, but you’re one of us now, in my eyes.”
I tilted my head at the odd comaraderie the speedster was giving me. At first he had wanted to pick a fight with me, but now I was family? An odd leap that I didn’t trust, and not just because the edges of his face were as wiggly as the furniture.
[Hopefully I can be done with them soon and prove my worth.]
Roy nodded slowly. “You didn’t shit yourself with the monster, so your metal dick isn’t just for show. Makes me wonder…”
[Oh?]
“An effective machine like you doesn't just appear out of the woodwork. Got Roxy singing your praises and League licking your ass. You didn’t back down from me, which means you’re either thick as shit or death doesn’t bother you.”
[Comes for us all eventually.]
He again nodded, supping up my answer, before a wide smile returned to his face. “I used to be brazen as goat balls when League first took me in.” The speedster gestured back with his thumb. “Illegal fighting rings, street fights, any brawl I could get myself in. I’m an angry fucker and got addicted to the violence.”
[Perhaps we are not so different.]
Roy gave me a wink. “I figured as much. My manager has my balls in a vice so I can’t play anymore. But… I bet you could if you wanted.”
I flexed my fingers out. If I had an idea to what he was insinuating, then that could possibly distract me from my actual target and contract. That said, it sounded fun, and I was full to the gills with alcohol induced bravado. A need to work off the awkward situation with the super back home.
[Is it here? Tonight? I'm in.]
He chuckled and ran his tongue across his lips. “Not sure why Rox likes you so much, and I feel like I’ve said balls too much already tonight. But it’s probably those, right? Huge ones. Real weighty fuckers.”
[What do you think of Roxy?]
“Ah,” he pulled a face and sat back, his hand drumming on the table. “In some ways, she is too good for the group - could get some better supers to party with. But… she just doesn’t play well with League rules. Hates them, in fact, so she is always in their bad books. As a person… I wouldn’t even think bad things about a woman who could literally tear me a new asshole."
I grunted and looked out around the shaded room. Waiter was returning with a tray, a glass with ice next to a bottle of something on it. The League wanted their heroes to be set pieces. Merchandise. Assets to do heroics a certain way when they said… but she was a loose cannon. An effective one, too. Paired with me, she…
Shook those thoughts from my head and watched the server place down the items in front of Roy.
“Cheers.” The speedster gave a nod of thanks. “You guys accepting challengers tonight, Mack?”
“Yes, sir. I believe the picks for the battle royale will be made soon.”
“Shit! What do you say, Dubs? That was your name, right?”
[You can call me Gunquake, and I will partake in the battle.]
Pretty terrible idea, all things considered. I had been pulled away from some cathartic violence once, so his offer of something more refined and structured seemed like a decent apology.
“Excellent. Mack, sign up Gunquake and put fifty big ones on him winning for me.”
“Sir.” The waiter bowed deeply before moving away again.
[So eager to lose your money? That is a lot of confidence on an unknown.]
“Nah.” He tapped on the table. “You might live clean now, but the stench of death never really leaves you. You’re a scrapper - I can tell. There’s no chance you’d go down in the group fight. Maybe after that I’ll hedge my bets for the single bouts.”
[I have to win the group fight to challenge proper fighters?]
“Got it in one.”
[Perhaps... I have a proposition for you?]
He slouched in his chair and drew the bottle towards himself. “I don’t fuck with meaty metal men, sorry.”
[If I beat the champion, you’ll vouch for me to be on your team as a proper super.]
Roy stared at me for a handful of seconds, bringing the drink up to his lips for a couple of gulps before lowering it. “You ain’t shitting me, are you? Huh. I mean, my word doesn’t mean shit unless the League rubberstamps your puckered asshole first, but you know what? Sure, Gunquake. If you think you can, and do, then I will figuratively suck your dick.”
[Nice of you to confirm that it was only figuratively. I assume then that the champion is quite the piece of work?]
“They’re a super.” His grin soured as his need to see me suffer overrode the potential of getting paid from me winning. “All three are, but they’re not that strong. It’s illegal, of course.”
So they were either villains, ‘villains’, or heroes moonlighting on the sly.
[Ground rules?]
“Well, can’t shoot people for one.” His fingers tapped on the bottle. “Not in the battle royale. Can’t kill people neither. Accidents happen, but there are punishments for being sloppy.”
I nodded along with the rules, but had started to check out. If I got caught in an illegal fighting ring, then my sidekick application might be as dead in the water as the League would make me soon after. Roy might have even more trouble if caught encouraging me.
“Group is full of reprobates. No angels sit around punching each other for a bit of scratch.” He gestured with his hand. “Or to get off on it, as we do.”
[I wouldn’t go that far.]
“Nah, I saw your body language out the front. You were about to crush the head of that cockroach, and for what? Interrupting your night out? I know you don’t have superpowers, but you ain’t human either.”
My mood cooled off, which just made me feel a little sick. I should have brought a normal canister so that I could purge some of this filth out of my system. Too late. I had made several bad choices this evening and wasn’t about to stop now.
[Take me there.]
“Alright, cool it.” Roy looked over to watch the waiter, who appeared to be on a phone or similar device. “They’ll tell us when it’s time. Can’t believe you are so eager to lose my money.”
[I’m more surprised you had that amount to waste on seeing the shit being beaten out of me. Although, perhaps that is worth the price of admission?]
Another shit-eating grin spread across his face, and he leaned forward across the table. “It’s a little of that, sure… but I make a bit extra on the side. I’m sure now that we’re bedfellows in this muck you can keep that to yourself?”
I hadn’t committed myself to doing any foul deeds at present, although that was a lie, because I wanted to fight. Something that didn’t involve murder, so we could at least excuse the legality to settle for something morally gray for a change. I almost convinced myself. Still, he didn’t know what I was yet.
[Not sure I could stomach doing further violence outside of the League’s prying eyes.]
“Eh, I doubt that.” He caught the eye of Mack, who gesture to the speedster. Roy stood and stretched his neck out. “Plus, it’s just information exchange, nothing dangerous. Perhaps if you play your cards right and work my balls a little, I’ll put you in contact with my boss.”
For what seemed like five minutes, I let that sentence settle into my sewage outlet of a brain.
Unable to come up with an immediate response, I stood very slowly and followed him away from the table.